


Snow Angels

by Annibellee



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:16:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annibellee/pseuds/Annibellee
Summary: Life as a human has changed the way Cas sees a lot of things.





	Snow Angels

     Cas watched fondly at the brothers, actually smiling and enjoying themselves for once while they pelt balls of ice at each other. What an odd way to enjoy oneself indeed. Suddenly, Sam drops to the ground and starts moving his arms and legs awkwardly.  
  
     As quickly as he possibly can, Cas darts to his side, afraid for his well being. What possibly could have made him fall that way? What was he doing? Why was Dean only rolling his eyes, instead of also running to his brother's aid?

     "Are you alright Sam?" Cas asks quickly, peering down at him, searching for any sign of injury.

     "What are you talking about? I'm fine," Same says, barking a laugh at the ridiculous question, then starts slowly moving his arms and legs again.

     "What are you doing? Why are you doing that?" Cas inquires in his confusion, shaking his head a little as he tries to understand the action. What could be fun about flailing about on the ground?   
  
     "You - Cas I'm - I'm making snow angels," Sam says, almost hesitantly, as if he regrets having to say the word "angels" in his presence. The word stings still, but he will be fine. Sam gets up slowly, as though not to ruin his masterpiece, and shows Cas his work.  
  
     "Oh," Cas responds, staring at it. He supposes it looks akin to some of the still, caricature-like ornaments that Sam had hung from the tree inside the bunker that were meant to resemble "angels". Sam scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "I can teach you how to make one," he offers, gesturing a hand weakly toward it. Cas only looks at him in answer, his curious eyes following Sam as he lays back down in the snow and begins making the same movements as before.  
  
     Cas moves away a couple of feet and copies him, moving his arms and legs up and down, and up and down, and up and down again. He then sees Sam get assaulted with snowballs once more. He stands to create some and sling them back at Dean. This continues for about ten more minutes as Cas continues carefully forming his very own "angel". The word bites the back of his head more than the snow.   
  
     Soon the boys are done and they're heading back inside, tired of running around, asking if he will be joining. Cas, still on the ground, shakes his head, no. He stands back up to look at his imprint on the earth. He frowns at the shape of the wings - so messy, uneven, crude. So quickly made - unlike those he used to have.  
  
     God had so carefully crafted them. He'd been so meticulous about all of his angels' wings. One by one, each feather was etched and strewn together with love and a tender mind. Years were spent on them, eons of human time. Cas sometimes mused about the time in which he knew that God truly cared.  
  
     These wings before him were minute made, and he smugly thought that they would never be beautiful, never like his once were. He'd been so proud of his wings. The wings here, formed of hardened water that had been touched by so many, so many times before, were downright sloppy. His wings had been untouchable, could not even be perceived unless he wanted them to be so. He was first ashamed that he could not perfect the fake ones here, but then again maybe he didn't want to, because his wings were far more special. He didn't think he could ever create a worthy competitor, but he supposed that it was the way it should be. No matter how betrayed he felt, he wouldn't want anyone to ever surpass God. It would feel too much like being let down.  
  
     Time passes and he doesn't move. He doesn't move when his fingers become numb, or his face feels frozen, or his legs stiffen. He can't look away from these things.  They were so simple. They were so haphazard - but they existed. The wings were in front of him, and if he truly wanted he could lean down to feel them, a second hand creation of his Lord.  
  
     Cas is broken from his reverie when he hears the bunker door swing open, the grating noise breaking his thoughts. "Cas! Jesus, you've been standing there for an hour! Come inside, have some hot chocolate or something!" Dean calls to him over the whirling wind that chills his bones, that would chill his real wings, were they still there.  
  
     He turns around and walks back toward the bunker, his human flesh new and too sensitive to withstand this. He was already experiencing pain as it was. Snow flakes began to fill the space of the sloppy abomination he'd made, and as the wind continues to whip against his back, he almost hears his wings rustle. He pretends he does not. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is like a four year old fic i just dug out of the depths of my emails and edited because i liked the premise


End file.
